


Adriatic

by sunflowerbright



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Emotional Trauma, F/M, Gen, canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 16:42:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerbright/pseuds/sunflowerbright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Games are over and Annie is alone. A post-Mockingjay fic on loss and what comes after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adriatic

The Games are over and Annie is alone.

That is ridiculous: of course she’s not _alone._ Peeta calls, sometimes and at first it’s awkward because she can’t (won’t) remember who he is and then when she does – _wedding cake –_ she breaks down crying. Once the fit is over she can put the voice to a kind smile and beautiful eyes and by now, he’s called so many times that she can recognize his voice before he’s said his name.

It’s a game she used to play when she was younger: sit still with your eyes closed and hear the things around you. Hear the voices and make the pictures for yourself.

Beetee comes around too. He’s busy with work, but he always stops by as much as he can, speaking to her in soothing tones and sometimes making tea before he goes away again. He always just talks, doesn’t expect her to answer or even listen and his voice is as pleasant as it is old and creaky, like well-used mechanics that just needs some extra oil to keep going.

“It’s alright now,” He tells her and it’s the only time she really hears what he is saying. He’s grown a beard now, the tendrils of black streaked with grey and she wonders exactly how old he is and then thinks that it doesn’t matter. He isn’t dead and that goes a long way for a difference.

After four months of Peeta calling and Beetee stopping by, the child starts kicking. It’s like a shock-wave, voltage running through her body and kick-starting her heart, pulse throbbing with the beat of small feet drumming a rythm. She finds herself talking in the phone, animatedly telling and answering. When Beetee comes by he looks like he almost has a heart-attack, as she asks him how the new project with the crop-machines are going. His hand on her stomach as the child kicks again is the first human touch she’s felt in ages and she feels just a little less hollow. She asks for his address and promises to stop by one day and the look of relief on his face seems to be as much for her as it is for the ( _kicking)_ child in her stomach.

It’s three weeks later and Annie wonders if she can get much larger: it seems to fill her completely, her pregnancy, so much so that she’s scared of when it will end. But at least, she won’t be so alone anymore.

She finds out from Peeta that Beetee has been offered a job back home in 3, but that he refused. The child kicks a little weaker this time, but when she confronts him he confesses that he stayed because of her and because of Finnick’s unborn child.

She promises that she can manage: promises to stay in touch. He promises to be there when the baby’s born and it’s the first time she’s imagined that actually happening. Annie isn’t sure what to do with a child.

Beetee leaves and the phone rings, but even in the wake of that, there’s a silence in her house that is choking her slowly. Like small wisps of air, gradually moving closer, wrapping around her neck and cutting off her circulation.

_That can’t be good for the child_ , she thinks and falls asleep on the couch, the flickering TV creating colours and shapes on her pale form. She dreams of water and blood and Finnick whispering promises and words made of sugar in her ear.

_“I’m sorry,”_ He says and Annie wakes to the sound of crying. They’re showing Capitol-victims on the screen in front of her, wispy children and scarred soldiers and widows with tears rolling down their faces. Annie isn’t sure if it’s the television or her own reflection she’s looking at.

She closes her eyes, hearing nothing but the sound of the speaker, the gentle humming of the television and the sound of crashing ways outside. She doesn’t want – doesn’t have – to see this. The humming is Finnick’s gentle tones in her mind and she relaxes, still with her eyes closed.

That way she doesn’t have to see what’s really there.

 

oOo

 

She tells Peeta that it isn’t necessary to call her every day. Her voice sounds like something from a Capitol-commercial, chipper and fake, but he doesn’t point it out. He’s been crying, she can hear. It’s the sound of her own broken voice, reaching out from miles away.

Annie stops answering the phone and learns to cook a bit better and how to decorate a cake, and she puts purple frosting in the shape of whales on the muffins, not thinking of sugar and sea-foam and how her wedding-cake had melted on the tongue.

She burns the muffins in the oven and starts crying, feeling ridiculous as she does. But then she accidentally burns her hand on the stove and the people at the hospital are looking at her worriedly and all of the sudden Johanna is there, in a flurry of short hair and sharp eyes and Annie is back on her couch before she knows it.

“You have to be strong. For the baby,” Johanna tells her and Annie thinks of how she never really liked Johanna, not until she saved Finnick’s life and she heard the running water and the crackling and the other girl’s screams in their shared cages in the Capitol.

“It shouldn’t be this way,” Annie says and she realizes that she hasn’t talked since Peeta’s last phone call and that is at least three weeks ago. “It’s not really fair.”

“No,” Johanna says, smiling as if they’re sharing some private joke. She looks uncomfortable, a veteran soldier gone useless, and not knowing what else to do Annie gently makes her say something to the bulge under her shirt and the child kicks in response to the other woman’s voice.

“You should get Katniss to sing for her,” Johanna says and it’s the first time someone has put a gender to it. “She’d love that – might kick-start some silly maternal-feelings or something.” There’s part-way scorn in Johanna’s voice, but there’s something soft in her eyes as well and she promises Annie that she’ll stop by again when she has time.

Johanna leaves and Annie feels lonely again, so lonely that she almost calls Peeta, but the child doesn’t kick and she takes that as a sign not to. Weeks stretches out and the next cake isn’t burnt and neither is her hand anymore and Johanna stops by with some frightening, monstrous thing that’s supposed to be a crib for the child and Annie laughs for the first time in months _(years)_ and bakes the soldier another cake.

She falls asleep on the couch again, television shut off and in the darkness, there’s a golden form settling next to her.

_“You should come up with a name for her,”_ Finnick says, nose nuzzling her neck.

“Everyone thinks it’s a she,” Annie whispers, afraid that if she speaks louder, he’ll go away. “What if it’s a he?”

_“It isn’t,”_ He says, kissing her shoulder and her nose and her temple and her mouth. She’s lost in warmth, but feeling cold, the bulge of her stomach pressed against his flat one. He places a hand on it and the baby kicks.

“Alright. It’s a she,” Annie mumbles, thinking that it’s impossible for Finnick to be here, and so he’s probably right.

She wakes to arches and pain and after twelve hours in the hospital there’s a baby boy in her arms

 

oOo

 

“He looks like an alien,” Johanna says, but shuts up as Annie – weakened and tired – hits her on the arm and Beetee shoots them both a glare.

“No fighting in the hospital,” He barks and Johanna gives a mock salute, before the boy makes a soft noise, causing everyone to look at him.

He opens his eyes and they’re beautiful and sea-green and Annie starts crying and Beetee has to take the child as she sobs, holding it like he has no idea which way goes up and which goes down and Johanna puts an awkward hand on her shoulder and the nurses are all skittering around, murmuring worriedly and thinking something’s wrong.

_Everything’s_ wrong.

She’s still crying late in the evening, but it’s quiet now and she holds her son in her arms, gently rocking and glad that he has his eyes closed.

_“He takes after you,”_ Finnick says, fingers nuzzling the dark hair on their child’s head. He’s sitting next to her in the bed, body pressed close and one arm around her shoulder. _“He’s going to be real smart when he grows up.”_

“Right,” Annie chokes out and keeps crying. “What should I name him?”

_“I don’t know. You have to decide that, I think.”_ Finnick rests his head on her shoulders and sighs quietly and Annie thinks that that might be the hardest decision she’s ever had to make.

They finally release her – _them –_ from the hospital and Annie goes home to find Johanna waiting there.

“I cleaned. So it looks more like a mess than before,” She says, looking both annoyed and worried and a bit hazarded all at once. Annie pulls her into a one-armed hug, the boy pressed gently between their bodies. Johanna awkwardly hugs back, looking startled as Annie thrusts her child out to her.

“You have to… I can’t… I can’t do this… I can’t… how can I….” She’s stammering and shaking and Johanna takes the baby simply out of fear of Annie accidentally dropping it. “I’m sorry…”

Johanna leads her to the couch and the last thing Annie hears before she falls asleep is a worried call to Beetee, asking him to come immediately.

_“You shouldn’t worry them so much,”_ Finnick mumbles into her hair, his arm cushioning her head. _“You shouldn’t rather want to be here – you have to take care of little Finnick Jr.”_

“I don’t think I’m naming him Finnick Jr.” Annie retorts, face hidden in the folds of his shirt. He smells like salt-water and sugar and that shouldn’t be soothing, but it is.

_“It would be a horrible faith,”_ Finnick says. “I _always hated my name, you know. People always shorten it to ‘Finn’. It’s a stupid name.”_

“I don’t think it’s stupid _.”_ His fingers are trailing a burning path down her spine and she thinks that, when she wakes, she’ll feel cold again. “I’m just not sure I should name our son that.”

_“But you have to name him,_ ” His voice is blurry from sleep, slowly drifting away from her. _“You have to be there with him; not with me.”_

“I want you both.”

_“I’m sorry.”_

“Annie?”

She opens her eyes and Beetee is leaning down over her, brow furrowed in worry.

“Are you alright?”

She doesn’t want to answer that.

“I could name him Beetee,” Annie says and is rewarded with a warm smile.

“You shouldn’t,” He counters and helps her up.

 

oOo

 

The Games are over and Annie is alone.

That is ridiculous. Of course she’s not _alone_. Peeta calls. Katniss has started calling too and sometimes getting Haymitch on the phone, just so that they can annoy him with the sounds Annie’s little boy is making. Beetee comes over and by the time her son can sit in his chair, the former Tribute has moved back to 5 and reads aloud of his books for the child almost every night. Annie isn’t sure if _‘Triumph Pre-unit Construction Twin Owner’s Workshop Manual (Aircraft Manual)’_ or _‘High Voltage Engineering – A Fundamental Manual’_ is really good children’s books, but Beetee seems determined that her son’s first word should at least be _wench_ or _spanner._ Annie ignores it and sneaks over to the crib – a new one, specifically designed by Beetee, the wood looking like slowly moving waves in the moon-light – in the middle of the night, picking up her son and gently cradling him in her arms.

Annie isn’t alone: there are voices and faces and the gentle gurgling of a young child just waking. But there isn’t a golden form visiting her at night, no soothing voice or soft hair.

“I miss you,” She mutters, sea-green eyes looking curiously up at her from a round face.

“What are you going to name him?” Johanna asks, one sunny afternoon. “He’s nearly six months old. You gotta give him a name. I can’t keep calling him ‘Sugarplums’ forever and if you are even _thinking_ of making that his real name…” The threat hangs in the air and Annie giggles.

“No. No, I was thinking… Hadrian.”

Johanna scrunches her nose. “ _Hadrian?”_

“Yes. Hadrian.” Annie smiles down at the boy in her arms.

“It’s an Emperor’s name, isn’t it? From those books that Plutarch keeps reading…” Johanna spits out the straw she’s been chewing, hand raised to shield her eyes from the sun. “Hadrian. From ancient Rome… he build a wall or something.”

“Yes,” Annie says, the words of the pages flittering by her eyes as if they’re really there and not just a faint memory. “But it was a city first: it gave name to a sea.”

Johanna looks down at the child, her fingers twisting and un-twisting between each other.

“He has Finnick’s eyes. That green colour.” Is all she says, before settling back down on the grass. Annie doesn’t answer.

She’s just glad their child will walk forward with his eyes wide open.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hadrian: From the Roman Hadrianus, which meant "from Hadria" in Latin. Hadria was a town in northern Italy (it gave its name to the Adriatic Sea). A famous bearer of the name was Publius Aelius Hadrianus, better known as Hadrian, a 2nd-century Roman emperor who built a wall across northern Britain.


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